


Silk and Cyanide

by TwoMenAndAGuava (drakkynfyre47)



Series: Stalag Space 9 [1]
Category: Hogan's Heroes, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Star Trek Fusion, Gen, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-09-24 05:54:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9706028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drakkynfyre47/pseuds/TwoMenAndAGuava
Summary: Hogan and his men are mercenaries, hired by the Federation during the Dominion War. When they're shot down and captured, how will they cope? And how can they help the war effort from inside Internment Camp 13?The main part of the Stalag Space 9 'verse. Other installments, including shippy things, will be in the rest of the series.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> title from BSP's "No Lucifer"

"Well. This is a great start to my day," said Hogan, staring at the gently smoking wreckage of what had once been his fighter.

“Isn’t it just,” Newkirk remarked. “Funny thing, all of us goin’ down on the same mission. Guess we were just lucky.”

“Or somebody ratted us out,” LeBeau said darkly.

“Let’s not go there,” Hogan said. “We have bigger problems to worry about.”

“Like getting out of here before we get captured by Jem’Hadar,” said Kinch.

“Uh, that’s not a problem anymore,” Carter said suddenly.

“Why no- oh.” LeBeau’s shoulders slumped. “This is bad.”

“You don’t say,” Newkirk said sardonically.

“Put your hands behind your head and prepare to be searched,” roared the Jem’Hadar soldier.

With understandable reluctance, the five men complied. “I don’t think this is the piewalk you said it would be,” Carter whispered to Newkirk.

“Cake, Carter. Cakewalk. And no, it’s not. Whatever led you to that conclusion?”

"Where's Baker?" Kinch asked suddenly.

“Don’t know,” said Hogan quietly. “He got out, and I think he just ran for it. Hopefully he won’t be captured with the rest of us. And we better not give any indication he’s supposed to be here.”

“Yes sir,” Kinch muttered.

“Silence!” exclaimed the Jem’Hadar.

Newkirk sniggered. “Silence is golden, isn’t that right?”

“I said silence!”

“Newkirk,” Hogan said warningly.

“Sorry, sir,” the Englishman said, more softly.

Carter gulped, and moved a little closer to Newkirk as the Jem’Hadar began divesting them of their weapons and uniform jackets. “Do you think Baker got away?” he whispered.

“As of right now, yeah. We better hope so.”

“Shhh!” LeBeau hissed. “Do you have a death wish?”

Newkirk opened his mouth to reply, but Hogan cut him off. “We have been captured in uniform, and therefore we have the right to be treated as prisoners of war,” the colonel said loudly to the Jem’Hadar First.

“You will be silent. You will be taken to a processing center to be interrogated, and then you will be taken to a prison camp, where you will spend the rest of the war serving the all-victorious Dominion,” the First boomed, and the men were roughly shoved towards the Jem’Hadar fighters at a run.

“All-victorious Dominion my ass,” LeBeau panted.

“Now who’s got the death wish?” Newkirk asked breathlessly.

“Kinch, Newkirk, do either of you speak Dominionese?” Hogan asked.

“No,” said Kinch. “But we’re all fluent in Fed Standard and passable in Tzikaa!n.”

“That’s not helpful,” said Hogan. “Newkirk?”

“Not really. I can say ‘surrender’, ‘yes’, ‘no’, and ‘praise the Founders’, but other than that, nothing. It's not an easy language.” Newkirk and Kinch were the two most skilled at learning languages, talents that had served them well in the past.

“Oof,” said Kinch, as Carter landed on top of him on the floor of the fighter.

“Sorry, Kinch,” said Carter, rolling off the other sergeant.

Hogan managed to stay upright, helping LeBeau and Newkirk inside, then pulling Kinch and Carter to their feet. “Okay, Newkirk, your job is to learn Dominionese as quickly as you possibly can. The rest of us will try our best to get info out of them before they pull out universal translators.”

“Just how likely do you think it is that we’ll find a talky ‘Hadar, Colonel? Because from what I remember, they just don’t do that,” Kinch asked skeptically.

“Well, we can always try,” said Hogan, spreading his palms with a hopeful smile.

The Jem’Hadar turned around. “You will be silent, or you will be shot.”

“Jolly fellow, ain’t ‘e?” Newkirk muttered under his breath.

“Not really,” said Carter, after giving this statement due consideration.

“Carter?” Newkirk asked. “Shut up.”

The expression on the tech sergeant’s face was so crestfallen that Hogan had to laugh. “Why don’t we all try to get some sleep? It’ll do us all some good.”

“Hmph,” said LeBeau. “Might as well try to sleep on a bed of nails.” He thumped his fist against the hard floor.

“Actually, you can,” said Carter. “I’ve done it.”

“Carter-” Newkirk stopped himself before he said something regrettable, and just gave an exasperated sigh.

“Carter’s right, you know,” Kinch pointed out. “If your weight is evenly distributed you could theoretically sleep on a bed of nails quite comfortably.”

“Don’t encourage him, Kinch,” Newkirk admonished.

“Be quiet! I’m trying to sleep!” Carter said.

“Settle down, fellas,” Hogan said, pitching his voice just loud enough to be heard by his men, but quiet enough that the Jem’Hadar didn’t comment on it.

There was a chorus of muffled “yeah, okay”, “yes sir”, “okay, Colonel”, and “whatever you say, boy, I mean sir”, then they did as ordered and settled into more comfortable positions to try and rest. After a moment, Hogan joined them, and all five flyers sank into deep, dreamless sleep.

-

Several hours later, Kinch was the first to wake. His neck and back were sore from sleeping against the wall, but as he looked around he couldn’t help but stifle a laugh at the strange tableau presented before him. Carter was curled up on his side, arms wrapped about himself as if he was holding someone or something invisible. Newkirk’s head rested on Hogan’s shoulder, and the colonel’s arm was draped around the Englishman’s waist. LeBeau, for his part, lay sprawled out on his stomach, face pressed into the floor. Even as he watched, the others were stirring.

Hogan’s eyelids flickered open, and he shifted on the floor. “Kinch?” he asked, sitting up.

“Yes, Colonel?”

“Do we know if Baker got captured?”

“No, sir. You were the last one to see him,” the sergeant said.

“Ow,” said Newkirk. When Hogan had moved away, Newkirk’s head had impacted the floor with a resounding thud. He rubbed the back of his head as he sat up, leaning against the wall. “Are we still talking about Baker?”

“Yeah,” Kinch said softly. “We’re pretty sure he got away, but you never know.”

Carter rolled over, right onto Newkirk’s steel-toed boots. “Oh! Those are your boots.”

“Yeah, Carter. You’ve got some of those too,” Newkirk said sarcastically, drawing his knees up to his chin.

The sergeant sat up. “Are we there yet?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Kinch said. “But soon.”

“As near as I can figure, we slept for five hours. That means we’ve got another two to figure out what the hell is going on,” Hogan told them.

“I’m trying to sleep!” LeBeau said loudly.

“Shut up!” Newkirk snapped.

“Calm down,” said Kinch, then nodded at Hogan. “Sorry, sir.”

Hogan smiled. “LeBeau, go back to sleep. Whoever’s awake can listen in. I think I have a plan. We’ll fill you in later, LeBeau.”

“No, no, I’m awake,” the Frenchman said quickly. Hogan grinned.

“That’s what I thought. There’s really nothing we can do at this point, so let’s just sit back and relax as best as we can until we get to the processing center.”

“That’s your plan?” Kinch asked skeptically.

“It’s a terrible plan,” muttered Newkirk.

“We can’t do anything sitting here!” LeBeau said.

“Yeah, Colonel. Isn’t there something we could do?” Carter pleaded.

“Well, have you got a better one?” Hogan asked. “If any of you do, speak up! I’m all ears.”

There was an embarrassed silence. “No, Colonel,” Newkirk said quietly.

“Sorry, sir,” Carter said.

“Oui. I’m sorry.” LeBeau rubbed his eyes and readjusted his scarf.

“You’re right, Colonel. There’s nothing we can do.” Kinch’s shoulders slumped. 

“We’re well and truly trapped,” Hogan said, “but we’re not giving up. Baker’s still out there, and he can let everyone know what’s happened, even if we can’t bust outta here ourselves. He’s a good guy. He knows what to do, knows it’s his priority to get home and not to worry about us, and he’ll do it.”

LeBeau and Newkirk exchanged a glance. Carter looked down and started fidgeting. Kinch stared at a point somewhere to the left of Hogan’s head. “What?” the colonel asked. “Talk to me.”

Newkirk cleared his throat. “Well, it’s just that we’re not really sure ‘ow trustworthy Baker is. ‘E’s only been with us a couple months, and I don’t know if I’m ready to trust him with my life yet.”

Hogan took a long breath and blew out his cheeks as he released it. “Okay. Do you remember when Carter joined the team?”

“Of course,” Newkirk replied. “There’s no way I’m going to forget anytime soon.”

“I don’t think any of us are going to forget anytime soon,” LeBeau added.

Carter’s face reddened. “I’m really sorry, guys. Really.”

Kinch put a hand on his shoulder. “We know, Carter. That’s history. You’re one of us now.”

Hogan cut off Carter’s reply. “Well, we all know what happened then. It’s the same way with Baker, a trial by fire-” In turn, his statement was cut off by the opening of the Jem’Hadar craft’s door.

“Out,” said the First. “Hands above and behind your head.”

Hogan and his men rose, hands raised. “You will be strip searched and processed. You will then be transported to Internment Camp Thirteen.”

“Bloody charmin’,” Newkirk muttered.

“Yup,” said Carter. “I really don’t want them taking off my clothes.”

“Not just that,” Kinch observed. “We have no idea what processing really means.”

“Oui, but it sounds safer than just being summarily executed,” LeBeau commented.

“Well, a food processor is just like a huge blender,” Newkirk pointed out. “So that’s not really true.”

“Silence,” said the Jem’Hadar.

The men quieted, and were frogmarched out of the back of the craft and into a small room. The room was bare but for a lighting fixture hung from the ceiling, and a single chair. The door slid silently closed behind the Jem’Hadar, then locked itself with an ominous click.

Carter immediately dropped to the floor, yawning enormously. “Well, I don’t know about you guys, but I’m still tired. I’m going to bed.”

“Huh, bed,” said Newkirk. “That’s a good joke.”

Carter blinked. “That wasn’t supposed to be a joke.”

LeBeau stifled a sigh. “Yes, we know, Carter. Newkirk was making a joke.”

“Oh.”

“Carter, I don’t think sleep is a good idea,” Kinch said. “We don’t know what they’re planning.”

“No, Carter’s right. We should sleep now. We don’t know when we’ll get the next chance,” Hogan said. And, since Hogan’s word was law, they got down on the floor and slept- or at least made the attempt.

Kinch tossed and turned, trying to find a comfortable spot. His difficulties were only augmented by the fact that Hogan was pacing. Finally, he gave up. “Colonel, why don’t you get some sleep? I can’t relax, so I’ll be up anyway.”

“No, Kinch, I can’t sleep either. We can both stay up and be miserable together.” Hogan removed his cap and ran fingers through his hair tiredly. As he did so, the door whooshed open, and a Vorta stood in the doorway, framed by two Jem’Hadar guards.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” said the Vorta. “I see you’ve made yourselves quite at home here.” She smiled down at Newkirk, Carter, and LeBeau, who were stirring.

“How long until we get to go back to our real homes?” Hogan asked glibly.

The Vorta’s smile widened. “Just as soon as the Dominion has won the war. Then you can go back to Earth to rebuild the smoking ruins.”

“Smoking ruins? Of Earth? I don’t think so,” LeBeau said.

“You just wait,” Newkirk said. “We’ll be home before you know it.”  
Kinch stayed quiet, watching the two Jem’Hadar warily, wondering how bad their chances of taking both down with a surprise attack were. His eyes met Hogan’s, and he saw in his colonel’s face the longing for freedom, but the concern for the lives of the men outweighed it.

“Settle down, boys,” Hogan said. He turned to face the Vorta. “Alright. What do you want to know?”

The Vorta’s chilling smile grew wider. “Everything.”

-

Afterwards, none of them remembered much about the processing center.

All they knew was that it had been more than a week and less than a month since they’d been captured. They knew they had been subjected to torture, to truth serums, but they didn’t know what they’d revealed. The fading scars of the interrogations were the only reminders of their time there, but they knew the memories would return eventually. None of them knew when or how they would affect them, but each vowed silently in his heart to support his friends, his brothers, in their suffering.

They were loaded into the back of another ship, and taken away again, this time to the place where they would wait out the rest of the war.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> credit to Snooky for Olsen's first name

Hogan’s first impression of Camp Thirteen was either very good, or very bad, depending on your viewpoint. He tended to think of it as very bad, because he didn’t immediately see an escape route. But he was determined to escape at any cost, and take his men with him.

Kinch’s first impression wasn’t much different. He knew just from looking that escape from here would be near-impossible, especially for more than one person. And he also knew that Hogan would refuse to escape without knowing his men were safely away from here.

In contrast to the other two, Carter was hopeful. He knew that somehow, some way, Colonel Hogan would come up with something. He always did. None of them would be left behind, either, because that just wasn’t the colonel’s style.

Newkirk was a cynic. He knew he was, and frankly didn’t care. He figured that they’d be spending the rest of the war in this dump, and he just planned to make the best of it. Maybe he’d eventually be able to beat Kinch at gin.

LeBeau was wavering between two views. On the one hand, he knew that Hogan couldn’t just fix everything with a wave of his hand, but deep down, he fully expected to escape, perhaps not right away, but eventually.

The Jem’Hadar weren’t thinking any such deep thoughts. They grabbed the five men and dragged them roughly out of the back of the craft and into a rather open area. 

Hogan’s gaze flickered around the compound, instantly checking his surroundings for anything that might possibly be useful, either in a fight now or an escape later. There was nothing, just the translucent grey-white of the atmospheric domes and the darker metallic grey of the floors, interspersed with the grey blotches of buildings. There appeared to be several long buildings, which he assumed were the prisoners’ barracks. There were also some larger buildings, which were probably common areas like a mess hall or a rec hall, and the office of the commanding Vorta.

His guess was proved right when a Vorta walked out of the building in front of them, again flanked by Jem’Hadar, and faced the little group.

“Welcome to Internment Camp Thirteen, gentlemen,” said the Vorta. He was short, with the typical pasty skin and black hair of his race. “My name is Shivin. For you, the war is over.”

Hogan suppressed a sigh. He could already tell that this was basically going to be a propaganda speech, declaring how great and glorious the Dominion was and how it would be so much better if they defected and offered their services to the Dominion. He tuned the speech out, half-listening, but already working out an escape plan. Then a particular phrase caught his ear. “We have never had an escape here at Internment Camp Thirteen, and I intend to keep it that way. You will quickly realize the futility of attempting escape.” Never had an escape, huh? I think we’ll just have to change that, Hogan thought.

As the Vorta wrapped up his speech, the men were getting restless, Carter hopping from foot to foot, LeBeau winding and unwinding his scarf, Newkirk fiddling with the top button of his uniform, and even Kinch fidgeting uncomfortably.

“Show them to Barracks Two,” Shivin ordered the Jem’Hadar guard.

The guard snapped to attention. “Yes, Shivin.” He turned and gestured toward the barracks directly behind the men with the barrel of his phaser rifle. “You will obey.”

“Oh, and Colonel? As the Senior Prisoner of War, you will be required to report to me quite often. All communications will go through you. It seems we’ll be seeing a lot of each other, no?” The Vorta gave an ironic salute.

Hogan threw a sloppy salute, set his hat back a little, and headed off to the barracks, affecting a nonchalant attitude. His men followed his lead, hands in pockets, slouching a little, caps either pulled down or tipped back. The Jem’Hadar guard flung the door open. “In.”

Hogan ducked inside, removing his cap. Kinch, Carter, Newkirk, and LeBeau crowded in behind, their attitudes and body language loudly proclaiming that they were one group, and therefore inseparable. All conversation quickly stopped, all hands were stilled, and all eyes turned toward the newcomers. A human woman in her early thirties stepped forward. There were a lieutenant commander’s pips on the collar of her black and yellow uniform, denoting an engineer.

“So who are you? And who do you belong to?” she asked, hands on her hips.

“Colonel Robert E. Hogan of the MSA. Currently employed by the Federation.” Hogan tossed his cap down on the table. “These are my men. Staff Sergeant James Kinchloe, Technical Sergeant Andrew Carter, Corporal Louis LeBeau, and Corporal Peter Newkirk.” He pointed at each man in turn.

“Lieutenant Commander Natalia Ko, late of the starship Endeavor. Had a prison break planned for here, but we didn’t anticipate the Jem’Hadar knowing about it.”

“Recon mission,” Hogan said. “We were shot down a few weeks ago.”

“Well, welcome to Barracks Two. We seem to be the troublemakers of the group, but we’re still serious, loyal soldiers. I’m SPO, so anything you need to say to the commandant needs to go through me.” Ko leaned against the table. “There are some open bunks there and there-” she indicated two bunks near the door “-and that’s where you’ll be sleeping.”

“Why isn’t Colonel Hogan SPO?” Carter asked her.

“I’m Starfleet, so I’m legitimately part of the Federation. You people are mercenaries, so you’re actually not part of the Alliance,” she told him.

“You got somethin’ against people who aren’t part of the Federation? You don’t like us ‘cause we’re mercenaries?” Newkirk asked belligerently. “Because last I checked, a colonel outranks a lieutenant commander.”

“True,” Ko agreed, “but that doesn’t mitigate the fact that you aren’t officially part of the Alliance.”

“We’re working for the Federation, aren’t we?” Kinch pointed out. “That makes us part of the Alliance.”

“No,” she said. “It doesn’t.”

“Hold up,” Hogan said. “Why don’t we go settle this by going to see the commandant? I’m sure he’ll be willing to tell us.”

Ko held his gaze for a moment. “Fine,” she said. “But don’t be surprised at the outcome.”

One corner of Hogan’s mouth quirked. “I’m sure I won’t be. I could say the same to you.”

“Then let’s go.”

Hogan and Ko left the barracks, and when Newkirk and LeBeau made to follow, Kinch shook his head. “They don’t need us.”

“You ‘eard ‘er,” Newkirk said. “She doesn’t trust us any further than she could throw us.”

“That doesn’t mean we need to go with them,” Kinch said. “What do you think’s going to happen? She’s not going to pull a knife on the colonel or anything.”

“How do we know that?” LeBeau asked. “I don’t trust her either.”

“Um, hi,” said a new voice. A young Starfleet lieutenant stood on the other side of the table. “I’m Brian Olsen. Lieutenant (j.g.), formerly of the starship Reliant.”

Newkirk glared. Kinch crossed his arms, debating what to say. LeBeau stayed silent. Only Carter responded. “Hi, Olsen. I’m Andrew Carter. Of the MSA, formerly gunner on the fighter Raven.”

“Nice to meet you, Carter.”

“Nice to meet you too. Um, this is Kinch. This is LeBeau, and that’s Newkirk.” Carter pointed at each of the men. “Newkirk flew Raven. LeBeau flew Hawk, and Kinch was the gunner. Colonel Hogan flew Eagle.”

“So what’s it like, being in the MSA?” Olsen asked.

“Well, we have to kind of move around a lot. We were on Tzenketh for about three years, and that’s kind of a long time to stay in one job…” Carter’s voice trailed off as Kinch, LeBeau, and Newkirk moved to close the circle and edged away from him. “Where are you going?”

“We’re having our conversation, you’re having yours,” Newkirk said. “Right?”

The cutting edge of his tone sailed right over Carter’s head. “Oh, right.”

Olsen opened his mouth to say something, but Kinch caught his eye with a slight, nearly imperceptible shake of his head.

The other three MSA men stayed huddled up, talking quietly amongst themselves. Olsen sat down at the table, inviting Carter to join him. The young sergeant did, hesitating slightly, with a glance over one shoulder at his companions. “Anyway, we usually don’t stay in one place for very long. Sometimes jobs are only a couple weeks long. But the Tzenketh job was really long, and we all kinda got attached to it. LeBeau has a Tzenkethi girlfriend, and they were dating for more than a year. That’s a really long time, especially for LeBeau. Do you like Starfleet?”

“Yeah, I guess so. I mean, I never really thought about it. My parents were in Starfleet, so I guess it was just a given that I would go into Starfleet too. I’m an ops officer, I worked a lot on the bridge, but I was really the night shift. I liked it a lot. It’s just great. Have you ever been on the bridge of a starship when there’s practically nobody else? It’s just you and the stars. Takes my breath away, even though I’ve seen it nearly every night for five years.” Olsen shook himself free of memories, returning his attention to the real world.

“Gee, that sounds great, boy. I mean, sir. Do I have to call you sir?” Carter wanted to know.

“Nah. I’m not even really a lieutenant, just a jay-gee. Different ranking system, see? I think in the MSA I’d be a corporal.”

“No…” Carter paused, thought about it, then said, more firmly, “No. We have officers. And we have enlisted men. You’d be a second lieutenant.”

“Well, then. That’s a promotion!” Olsen said with a grin.

Carter beamed. “You bet, boy!”

Over in the corner, Kinch, LeBeau, and Newkirk rolled their eyes. “Typical Carter,” Newkirk muttered.

“You’re just jealous,” LeBeau snarked.

“Shhh,” Kinch hushed them. “Keep it down.” They went back to their huddled conference.

-

 

Hogan walked across the compound alongside Ko. Each kept stealing glances at the other, almost as if they were sizing up the competition. Just outside the camp commandant’s office, he stopped. “Commander,” he said.

She paused as well. “Yes, Colonel?”

“Whoever comes out on top, I want there to be no hard feelings. I don’t want my men shunned because of what happens between us.” Hogan folded his arms across his chest. “Will you agree to that?”

She smiled slightly. “Of course, Colonel. The same goes for you.”

“Of course.” Hogan’s lips twitched sardonically. “After you.”

She inclined her head, then entered the office, Hogan close behind. When they stood inside the inner office, the Vorta looked up with a smile. “Ah, Colonel, Commander. What can I do for you today?”

Hogan pasted a smirk on his face. “We were wondering if you could settle a little dispute for us.”

Ko was more blunt. “Who’s SPO?”

“Why, Colonel Hogan, of course. He is the highest ranking officer in this camp. If there’s nothing else I can do for you, I’m a very busy man.” Shivin said, going back to his paperwork.

Hogan glanced over at Ko. Her face was slightly flushed. “No, commandant, I believe that will be all,” he said, opening the door and gesturing for Ko to exit.

As they walked back across the compound to Barracks 2, she stopped. “Colonel, I want to apologize for questioning your authority.”

Hogan smiled. “I accept your apology. You had a very valid reason to be suspicious. We are, at bottom, mercenaries. And there’s always the risk that a mercenary will sell out, if your enemy is offering a higher price than you are. But so long as we’re in this prison camp, we are on your side. I hope we can all earn your trust, and you can earn ours. Besides, we already talked about no hard feelings.”

“Right, sir. Thank you, sir.”

“And Ko? You really don’t have to ‘sir, yes sir’ me. Just ‘Colonel’ is fine.”

“Yes, sir.” They started walking again.

The door swung open. Hogan was unsurprised to see that Carter was the only one of his men who had really branched out and begun talking to someone new. The other three were still huddled together against the wall, talking quietly.

The colonel raised his voice. “Okay, everyone, listen up.” The talking quieted, but didn’t totally cease. 

“Hey!” Ko shouted. “You heard the man. Listen up.” The Starfleet officers and enlisted stopped talking and turned to face Hogan. 

“Commander Ko and I just went to see the commandant. He’s informed us that I am in fact the SPO, and I will be the SPO until someone with a higher rank shows up here.” Hogan folded his arms and began pacing. “Now, I’m not Starfleet, as I’m sure you’re all painfully aware. So I’m not going to be following Starfleet protocol to the letter. But what I am gonna do is lay some ground rules.

“First off, I’m not going to tolerate anyone being left out, excluded, discriminated against, etcetera, because of species or occupation. We are not going to have the ‘I hate engineers’ club, or the ‘I hate Cardassians’ club, and we are definitely not going to have the joint venture ‘I hate Cardassian engineers’ club.” He paused, waiting for the chuckle to die down. “Secondly. In terms of escaping, all plans must be cleared by me before being put into action. I may have information on goon activity that the planners don’t, so be sure to at least run it by me before you go for it. That being said, I’m going to actively encourage escape attempts, and we probably will have to work out a way for the escapees to let us know when they get home safely.

“Finally, we’re all going to be stuck here for who knows how long together. That means we’re going to have to interact. If you have a problem with anyone here, resolve it before I have to step in. And believe me, you won’t like it if I step in.” He stopped pacing, gaze sweeping across the room. “I guess that concludes our first meeting. If you need anything, my figurative door is always open.”

The murmuring resumed, and Hogan slipped over to where his three men stood clustered together. “C’mon, fellas. Spread out. Talk to people. Get to know them.”

“We’ll have plenty of time to get to know them, Colonel,” Newkirk protested. “Years, even.”

“Yeah, well, the sooner you start, the better. Get it over with.”

“Okay, Colonel. We will,” Kinch said placatingly.

“I’m serious,” Hogan insisted. “Go on. I’m going to stand here until you do. At least separate from each other. Make the effort.” He pointed. “See? Carter’s doing it.”

Kinch suppressed a sigh. Sometimes Hogan was almost like a mother hen. “Fine, Colonel. I’m going.” He stepped away from the group, towards the Starfleet/Klingon half of the room.

Ko intercepted him. “Hello,” she said. “I’m sure you already know this, but I’m Natalia Ko.”

“Hello, Commander. I’m Staff Sergeant James Kinchloe.”

“You don’t have to call me Commander, or sir, or anything like that. We’re a prison camp. We don’t need to stand on ceremony here. We’re all in the same boat, so to speak. You can call me Ko, or my friends call me Talia. So, uh, hello. I’m Talia.”

Kinch smiled. “I’m James Kinchloe, but most people just call me Kinch. Nice to meet you, Talia. And it’s a pity that same boat isn’t a starship.”

“Yeah, it is.” 

There was a slightly uncomfortable silence. Kinch took the opportunity to study the woman. She wasn’t anything you’d call beautiful, or even striking, but she was pretty, in a plain-faced sort of way. “Thinking about it, wouldn’t we be in a starboat, rather than a starship?” he asked.

Talia grinned. “Yeah, I guess it would be.” She tucked a loose strand of mousy-brown hair behind her ear. It had at one time been cut in a sharp pageboy, but now, it was understandably a bit less well-maintained. “So what’s the real war news? We only get the watered-down propaganda version here.”

Kinch sighed. “Well, how long have you been here?”

“Did you hear about the loss of the Endeavor?”

“Vaguely. It was kind of a while ago, wasn’t it?”

“Nearly six months. That’s how long I’ve been out of it,” she said ruefully.

“Well then,” Kinch said. He gestured toward the table. “I think we’d better sit down. This might take a while.”

-

 

Newkirk pulled his pack of cigarettes out of his jacket. Kinch was deep in conversation with the Starfleeter who had been SPO, LeBeau was lost somewhere in the crush of POWs and bunks across the table, Carter was talking with another Starfleeter, and the Colonel was pacing, making sure everyone was interacting appropriately. He himself was still standing against the wall, leaning on the doorframe.

The sole Romulan in the barracks came to stand next to him. Newkirk glanced over. The man was staring at the cigarette as if he’d never seen one before. One corner of the Englishman’s mouth quirked. “Want one?” he asked in Romulan.

“What- What is it?” the other man asked tentatively.

“A cigarette.” Newkirk blew a cloud of smoke out across the table. “I s’pose you’ve never seen one before.”

“No.”

“Yeah, well, not many people smoke these days, and it’s mostly a Federation thing, so that’s not really surprising.”

“I’m Sublieutenant Teval,” the Romulan said.

“Corporal Newkirk,” the Englishman responded. “A pleasure, I’m sure.”

“You speak good Romulan,” Teval said.

Newkirk grinned. “For a foreigner?”

Teval cracked a smile. “Yes. And especially for a Federation foreigner.”

The smile melted off Newkirk’s face. “Let’s get one thing straight here, mate. I’m not from the Federation. I’m human, yeah, but the only reason I’m a citizen of the Federation is that I was born on Earth.”

Teval nodded. “Yes. I see. You live elsewhere?”

“Yeah… I guess you could say that,” Newkirk said. “So ‘ow long you been ‘ere?”

“I was taken fairly recently. I’ve been here for just about a month now,” Teval told him. “How long were you at the processing center?”

Newkirk took off his cap and ran his fingers through his hair. “I don’t even know. I don’t remember most of it.”

Teval nodded. “I see.”

“Why do you keep saying that?”

“Because I do.”

“Seems logical,” Newkirk said. “Or is that a taboo word on Romulus?”

“No, not really.” Their conversation trailed off. Newkirk finished his cigarette, then tucked the end back into his jacket, unsure whether he’d be able to get more.

Hogan caught his eye and raised an eyebrow, a silent question.

Newkirk nearly sighed, knowing Hogan had probably been right to get them to branch out sooner rather than later. But that didn't mean he had to admit it.


	3. Chapter 3

It wasn't until three weeks had gone by that they made their first escape attempt. It was after lights out, and Kinch and LeBeau had volunteered to be the guinea pigs. When Hogan was fairly sure the coast was clear, they all slipped out into the darkness, the two NCOs’ faces smeared with grease. “Alright, fellas,” Hogan whispered. “You know what to do. When you get home, let us know.”

LeBeau smiled. “Certainly, mon colonel.”

“That’s if we make it,” Kinch said realistically. “I don’t-”

“Just go. Let me do the worrying.” Hogan clapped his men on the shoulder. “Hope to see you soon.”

“Oh, I’m not worried, Colonel. Either way, we’ll see you soon.”

LeBeau and Kinch moved smoothly, with almost catlike grace. It was a fairly even bet whether they could even slip past the perimeter unseen, let alone get off this asteroid. Despite the outward confidence, everyone knew it was unlikely the plan would succeed.

Kinch peeked up over the low wall surrounding the camp. It wasn’t like there was anywhere to go, but the facility was nevertheless well-guarded, and they would have to be careful. As soon as the guard had passed their little exit, he stood. “Come on, LeBeau,” he whispered.

-

Hogan, Carter, and Newkirk, along with Ko, sat in Hogan’s office. There was nothing they could do now but wait, the tension in the room so thick it could be sliced with a knife.

“You know what we need?” Newkirk asked. “A way to listen in, y’know, spy on the commandant’s office.”

“You wanna volunteer to sit outside his office window all the time?” Hogan asked, only half joking.

“Nah,” Newkirk said. “But couldn’t we get Kinch - well. If he comes back, we could get him to rig us up a bug or something.”

“That’s a good idea,” Carter said, warming to the theme. “We could disguise it on his end as, as, as a flower or something.”

“What about this end? We’d have to have some sort of cover.” Newkirk leaned back against the bunk.

“What about…” Carter glanced around the room, seeking inspiration.

“Coffee pot,” Ko said suddenly. “We’ve got a spare coffee pot somewhere, I can maybe get Krun to dig it up.”

“Perfect!” Carter exclaimed. “As soon as Kinch and LeBeau get back, we can-” He cut himself off as he realized what he was saying. “I mean. I mean, it’ll be hard without them, but we can definitely do it.”

Newkirk rolled his eyes.

Hogan looked at them fondly. “Boys,” he said, “let’s worry about one thing at a time. We’ll cover for Kinch and LeBeau as long as we can and hopefully we’ll get them enough time to get out. If not, we’ll have to reassess where we’re headed.”

Ko had been quiet, not engaging in the banter as if she could tell she wasn’t quite able to participate fully yet. “There’s never been an escape from here yet, and believe me, we’ve tried. With all due respect, Colonel, you’re not gonna get your people out of here that easily.”

It was an opinion she’d voiced before, but now Newkirk snorted derisively. “Don’t underestimate Kinch an’ LeBeau, and definitely don’t underestimate the Colonel. We’ll get out.”

Ko ignored him, shifting to face Hogan. “Sir, they’ll crack down on us the second they find out your men are missing. They’ll hold you and them in isolation. It’s happened before, it’ll happen again.”

“That’s a risk we’ll have to take,” Hogan said firmly. “We all know it’s not going to be easy. We’re prisoners of war. We’ve just got to take them as they come.”

“Okay, but don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Ko said dubiously. “Sir.”

-

Ko was more right than wrong.

When Kinch and LeBeau were brought back before the morning roll call, Hogan was called to the Commandant’s office. He arrived with his usual casual attitude, hat set back on his head and jacket half-zipped. A flicker of emotion crossed his face, but it was impossible for Kinch and LeBeau to read as he took in their messy, bloody state.

LeBeau’s nose was broken, Kinch’s lip split, and they both had abrasions all over their hands, scuff marks decorating their uniforms. Hogan turned his back to them, facing Shivin.

“What can I do for ya, Commandant?” he asked, forced cheer obvious to his men.

“You will be punished,” said Shivin. “You will be punished, and your men will be punished. First!”

The Jem’Hadar snapped to attention.

“Take them to the holding cells. They’ll be placed in isolation until further notice.”

Hogan took a step forward. “Now wait just a minute! My men and I are entitled to -” The Jem’Hadar clamped a powerful hand over Hogan’s mouth, cutting him off. 

“You are entitled to nothing,” Shivin said coldly. “You will be silent, and you will be placed into isolation. Do not make me extend your sentence. Do you understand?”

Hogan bit back angry words, knowing that it would only make things worse. “Yes, Commandant,” he forced himself to say from between gritted teeth. “I understand.”

-

Isolation was cold and dark and miserable. Not that LeBeau had been expecting anything else, of course, but it was still an unpleasant change from the warm atmosphere of the barracks. He drew his knees up to his chest and huddled against the wall that joined his cell to Kinch’s. “Kinch?” he called.

There was no response, and his voice sounded oddly tinny. Sound dampening field, he thought. Should’ve known.

He stood up, and began exploring the cell - solid bars on the tiny window cut into the door, hard rocky walls, ceiling just tall enough for him to stand up. His claustrophobia eased its tight grip on his chest for a moment as he thought about how Kinch and the colonel wouldn’t even be able to straighten up until they were let out of solitary. 

At least they’d let him keep his scarf. He pressed his face into it - not too hard; his nose still hurt and would probably heal crooked.

-

There wasn’t enough room to pace. Hogan had more pent-up energy than he knew what to do with, and being in such a small room didn’t help. He didn’t know when they’d be let out, whether they’d be allowed their rights as POWs.

He ran his fingers over the join between the door and the wall. No hinges in sight, no way in or out of the cell except the door. “Damnit,” he said out loud. His voice echoed a little, in a way that really shouldn’t have happened in this confined space. “There must be some sort of dampening field,” he mused.

Well. Since that avenue of communication was exhausted, he sat down to contemplate how badly he’d messed up this time, and whether it was even salvageable any more.

-

Kinch pressed his fingers into the shallow depression he’d hollowed out by scuffing his boots against the same spot in the floor over and over. It was dusty enough that he’d made an impression, but not soft enough to let him get anywhere too quickly. He knew that this was an abandoned mine, and that there should theoretically be more tunnels underneath, but he hadn’t found any either in the barracks or here in solitary. 

He leaned against the wall tiredly. His back already hurt from having to hunch his shoulders to fit his tall frame into the cell without hitting his head on the ceiling. Unfortunately, he wasn't expecting to be able to leave any time soon.

He figured there was probably some major security around these cells, even if he couldn't see any guards from the narrow barred window in the cell door. So to test it out he tossed a handful of dust and dirt against the window - sure enough, it bounced right back off the force field. Kinch sighed. Escaping was going to be harder than he'd hoped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the short chapter - things have been a little hectic and I've been waiting for time to rewrite it so that it was longer, but it's not gonna happen, so have this. this is the last pre-written chapter I have, so the next few might be another month or so.


End file.
